“Get out of that truck!” Abel shrieked. “Shut down the fucking engine and get the fuck out!”
Fox finished making his circle, but he didn’t turn off the engine. My heart sank when he stepped out of the truck. Of course he had a pistol shoved down the back of his jeans like they all did. But it’d be suicide to use it now.
“Get up there! Get up there!” yelled Abel, shooing Fox over to the front verandah with the rest. Fox didn’t make it to the front steps, though. In one flashing motion, he turned fast as lightning and threw something on the ground. Abel wasn’t quick enough to react, it was so unexpected.
Voom! The trail of gasoline Fox must’ve been spilling from the fuel truck’s hose was on fire! Circus-like, flames quickly ate up the trail he’d laid down, setting fire to men’s pants before they could get out of the way.
Pow! The first shot was fired. Fox pulled his own pistol from his pants and shot Abel clean through the forehead. The guy collapsed to the ground, splayed out like a chalk outline. All hell broke loose then.
Men ran, on fire. Flames engulfed a motorcycle, exploding the fuel tank. When a beaner ran to save it, he caught on fire too. He was put out of his misery by Ford, who must’ve gotten his gun back. The guy crashed into his flaming motorcycle, and they died as one, together forever.
The same thing happened when a beaner tried to save his Camaro. His pants wound up on fire, too, and a fresh burst of automatic machine gun fire put an end to him, as well as dozens of bullet holes in his beloved car.
Where was that machine gun fire coming from? I ran out front with my bow, yelling at the women to stay inside. I looked around, but non-flaming targets were few and far between. That was when I heard a clattering inside the lobby. Looking through the front door, I could see the back door was open. I remembered a couple of beaners from behind the building. I ducked inside the door just in time to see two Ochoas pointing their guns at the women.
I thwacked one of them in the throat with an arrow. I had to stand way back by the couches to get him at that close range. It was classic to see his eyes cross. He dropped his gun and put a hand to his throat, then fell in a giant pile of limbs. I nocked another arrow, but someone else got to the second guy before me. Another clean shot through the middle of the forehead, and he crashed onto my desk. A little rivulet of blood ran over some of my papers. June, sitting on my desk, reached a foot out and kicked him to the floor.
“Thanks,” I said, to both June and Slushy, who had plugged the guy.
He grinned. “No sweat.”
I ran out front again with my little bow. It seemed like every Boner was armed now, and it was impossible to find a beaner to bury anymore. If machine gun fire hadn’t gotten them, a Boner had. Fox was looming over a prone body, pistol in hand, but the guy wasn’t moving. I ran over to him, tossing my bow aside and grabbing his arm.
“Get inside!” I cried.
His face was so placid, so calm. As though he stood in the eye of a hurricane. “Not ’til I’m sure they’re all dead. You get back inside.”
But I wouldn’t leave his side. Wolf came across the street now, a little machine gun slung across his back. Luckily there wasn’t much traffic up here if you didn’t count hunters, fishermen, or people looking for their lodging. He looked so cool and collected, like Clint Eastwood walking calmly through the carnage, until the fuel truck exploded.
Fox had made sure to park it away from the motel. He probably thought it would catch fire a lot sooner and give a needed distraction to the Ochoas.
Wolf must have forgotten that. He was crossing the highway and had made it almost to the unpaved part of the parking lot when the thing just detonated, flaring up in a giant mushroom cloud and sending a shockwave that knocked him on his ass.
I was surprised how heedlessly Fox ran out there to get him. No one else did. They were too busy making sure the women were safe, or making sure the Ochoa they’d gunned down was truly dead. Some men were already involved in dragging bodies, flaming or not, into one of the rooms that hadn’t been renovated yet. Speed had found a fire extinguisher and was running around putting out fires in cars, motorcycles, and flaming Ochoas. Now he ran to the fuel truck.
But by the time I reached them, Wolf was standing, grinning his trademark grin. Fox had his hand on Wolf’s upper arm, as though Wolf was disabled. “Come on. We’ve got to get inside, start cleaning up this mess.”
Faux Pas and Knoxie ran past with fire extinguishers too. I wondered what we were going to do with all the burned bikes and cars. A few were unscathed, but we wouldn’t want to be caught dead with them on our property.
“Boy, this is the last thing Randy Blankenship wants to see.”